StarFucker
By
Xavier Axelson
I am usually oblivious to strawberries but for some reason this summer I am compelled to think about them, crave them.
They are not a sexy fruit as everyone has been led to believe…cherry imposters, distant cousins of sexuality. Funny…I found out today this guy I fucked around with awhile back got a boyfriend. I had a feeling he had, as he had had been on my mind lately for no other reason except that it had been summer when we began fucking. I had seen him in a couple local rags clinging to one scruffy looking guy or another…looking cute, smiling…what a big cocked asshole he was.
I have a tank top that has a bleach stain on it from an encounter in his basement laundry room. He got with someone who looks just like him two strawberries, not distinguishable from the others in the bowl.
I’ve thought a lot about strawberries lately. How odd that I’ve been craving them and went as far as to buy two cartons from a roadside stand and then ate one the minute I got home. I’m lying. I started eating them the minute I got back into my car. The red juice spurting like sweet blood; dribbling down my chin, making my scruff sticky. I hadn’t been opposed to letting HIM make my scruff sticky, not something I do with many guys but something about that Fucker made me almost servile.
Maybe I’m really just craving vitamin A or C or whatever it is that the berries possess.
Summer does tend to bring out the worst in me so I played it safe and bought a bag of cherries to counteract the underlying pent up passions of the strawberries. Balancing what you truly want with what you truly need is a rare quality and being the sign of the scales, I am in constant weighted torment.
I put the heavy bag of cherries; dark red, purple-black next to the remaining carton of strawberries just to give them something to think about. I imagined mixing them into thick yogurt or sprinkling sugar on them…but it’s all a dream. I’ve only wanted them naked, cold from faucet water, perspiring and gleaming like the forgotten dreams of a basement lust.
There are some dreams better left in the basement, the laundry room…the elevator that had those incredible metal gates that you have to lock for the thing to operate…you know exactly the kind I’m talking about…and lastly that place near his house…Italian, good pizza made only better by his bare foot pressing between your legs…toes digging into your balls, and the smile on his beer stained lips.
Summer, strawberries, cherries…none quite as seductive as being at the mercy of someone who knows exactly what it is that makes you melt like a creamcicle some kid dropped on the sidewalk. Sticky, messy, sweet…,and gone…melted, lost and disappearing. I’m glad he’s found someone who looks just like him.
I really am.
Oh by the way…did you hear? I have two new books coming out: Lily with Silver Publishing and The Good Cop with Seventh Window Publications.
Feel free to also stop by my examiner.com column and say hello…fuck off…or send me a recipe or cookies…whatever you dish I can take… or come by my website!